


Us And All We've Done

by smc_27



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just need you to find his father,” Quinn says, and Santana has to work really hard to keep herself from saying this isn’t the Maury fucking Povich show. “That’s all.” </p>
<p>Or, an AU in which Santana is a lawyer tasked with finding Quinn's kid's father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us And All We've Done

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend sent me a text outlining an AU and then we cowrote the story.

What she wants to know is how the hell a coffee shop in the biggest city in the country _runs out of coffee_. And seriously, if she had more time this morning, she’d be asking to talk to the manager about how this is even a thing. She knows damn well that she could talk the guy into doing something for her because he’s like, 20 and still convinced he has a shot. 

Which is hilarious. For so many reasons. 

Instead of her regular triple Americano she’s sipping some ridiculous hippie tea that the chick behind the counter claimed would be just as good. There’s also this family of tourists trying to take pictures of the homeless man whose usual spot is here, two doors down from the coffee shop. There’s actually a selfie stick involved. She literally considers pushing them into the garbage heap nearby. Instead, she hands him the tea she hasn’t even had a sip of yet, and the change from the $10 bill she used to pay for it. 

Then, when she gets to her usual subway station it’s closed for construction, which she probably should have known about. There have been signs posted for the past week, but she’d ignored them. 

So far, not the best morning. 

It’s Tuesday, too, which is when Emma, their boss, assigns their cases for the week. Which, when you work with, like, the public, can be a little terrifying. Every Tuesday, she and her colleagues sift through their new assignments and hope to all that is holy and good in the world that they don’t end up with Crazy Joe from 2nd Ave and his lawsuit of the week. Or some hopeless tenant’s dispute that’s unwinnable and fucks with your win-loss record. And no, at Legal Aid that’s not the most important thing, but Santana is new and young, and she knows how this all works. She’s at the bottom of the ladder, and wants to move up, and winning cases is the way to do that. 

When she walks into the office, she’s greeted with the usual indecipherable grunt and bubblegum snap from the receptionist and Santana tries her best not to flat out roll her eyes at the woman as she walks past. Santana’s desk is tucked way in the back of the office where sunlight doesn’t even bother trying to reach. Mike’s desk is on the way, though, and he smiles at her as she walks towards him. His tie is crooked as shit, as usual, and he holds out a Starbucks cup for her.

“Got you a coffee,” he says.

Praise. 

She takes the cup and keeps walking, then stops in her tracks and turns around with her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Mike grins a little and shrugs his shoulder, taps his pen on his desk and asks, “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

Santana sputters out, “No,” as she laughs, and Mike leans back in his chair and starts looking a little squirmy. “Seriously. What?”

“I put in my two weeks notice,” he says eventually, “so I’m not getting any new cases this week.” 

She looks down the narrow little hall towards her desk, sees the stack of new case files is taller than usual, and she’s not sure if she’s more pissed about that or the fact she’s losing the only friend she has who works here. 

“Where?” she asks, and Mike shakes his head a little bit. She doesn’t like the bullshit and shifts her weight to one hip as she stares at him. “Mike.” 

He just shrugs his shoulder, and she has her answer without him having to say it, tries not to be disappointed with him for finally giving in and going to work at his dad’s firm. Dammit, he’s the only one who really understands why she wants to do this work to begin with; they weren’t just _stuck_ here. If you have your sights on the DA’s office, you need to start building your election platform early.

And if it were any other morning, she’d give the coffee back to him. She just really needs it today. 

The first few cases are clearly Mike’s garbage. Like, if it weren’t illegal for her to just throw the details away, there’s a recycling bin she usually uses as a footrest that would be full. By the time her coffee is finished she’s triaged most of the files and is working through the last of them, which are the ones that would have landed on her desk anyway.

“Mike,” she shouts down the hall, holding up the file in her hand so he can see, “come look at this.”

“Why?”

“If you think I won’t tell Emma about the dream you had about her…” He’s up, out of his chair and coming down the hall before she even finishes the sentence. 

Mike takes the file from her and looks it over, tugs the picture free from the paper clip and hands it to her, for some reason. She waits, holding this picture, as he processes the details. “I was here a year before Emma gave me a case with a kid.”

She’s made it perfectly clear she’s here for public corruption cases and she’s never had one that directly dealt with a child. She’s only been here eight months, and she knows how seriously Emma takes cases involving children. She feels pretty awesome knowing she’s gotten to this point quicker than Mike did. 

“You don’t know who Quinn is, do you?” Mike asks.

Santana shrugs her shoulder. “Who is she?”

“Her dad’s this big businessman on the Upper West Side who’s pretty shady.”

“Russell Fabray?” Mike nods. Santana knows there was a whole big thing a while back that led to Quinn basically being disowned, but she doesn’t know the details. Looking at the picture of this kid, she could guess he has something to do with it. It wasn’t national news or anything, but Santana’s got Google alerts for certain mid- to high- profile people in the city. 

That explains why this file’s on her desk and not someone else’s. This isn’t just any kid, it’s Russell Fabray’s grandson. Biologically, anyway. 

The case is actually not that complicated, but she’s not entirely sure she understands the legalities of what’s being asked of her. There’s only one phone number in the file so, once she’s read through all the details, she figures that’s the best place to start.

“Ms. Fabray, my name is Santana Lopez. I work for Legal Aid and I’ve been assigned your case. I’ve reviewed it, and I’d like to request a meeting.”

“Why?”

Okay, not at all what she expected. In her experience, people just _love_ coming down and stating their cases in person. But Quinn Fabray isn’t a typical client, and she’s probably had enough people asking her about her kid and wants to be careful about the details. Frankly, Santana probably wouldn’t trust a random Legal Aid worker, either.

She recovers quickly, answers, “I think speaking in person would help me understand exactly what’s needed from me with regards to the situation with your son.”

“I just need you to find his father,” Quinn says, and Santana has to work really hard to keep herself from saying this isn’t the Maury fucking Povich show. “That’s all.”

“I’m not a private investigator.”

“Look,” Quinn says in a tone that makes Santana actually stop and listen, “my son is sick and I need to know if his biological father is a match to donate. That’s all.”

Santana shifts through the paperwork again. “If we’re going to do that, we need to confirm that he’s actually the father.” Quinn doesn’t say anything and Santana senses she’s offended or downright pissed. “All I’m saying is that it wouldn’t hurt to have proof.”

Quinn sighs, which Santana takes as her conceding. “I want him to relinquish his parental rights, too.”

 

“It’s just that simple?” Santana can’t help but say.

“Do you think this is a joke?”

Santana looks at the picture of the little boy again. “No.”

“So,” Quinn says, “call me back when you’ve found Finn.”

Santana’s been hung up on before, so it doesn’t bother her too much. To be honest, she’s really trying pretty hard not to picture this cute kid looking sickly.

All she has is this guy’s name. But really, she’s done more with less. And something about the way Quinn was talking to her on the phone just really makes her want to find the guy and get the case off her desk as quickly as possible. 

She spends all afternoon bugging Artie to do some tech wizardry, and eventually he gets her two more possible numbers and an address that’s in Who-the-Hell-Knows-Where, Ohio. Then when Mike asks her to go to happy hour at the place down the block, she gets to say no because she’s got a date. She’s not gonna tell him that’s why, because she doesn’t need him asking her a million questions. She thinks he might be living vicariously through her or something, ‘cause any time she mentions a date, he’s prying for information. 

And this thing with Rachel is going well. She’s not superstitious, but she doesn’t want to jinx it. 

Rachel had told her about this amazing food truck that sells only gourmet grilled cheese, and Santana had a hard time not being excited about it, because that’s her ultimate comfort food and Rachel was adorable talking about it. 

So they’re walking with sandwiches that are definitely too messy to eat without a table, and Rachel giggles a bit when cheese drips down her chin and she wipes it away with a napkin. Yeah, Santana’s totally into this woman. Like, anyone who can make that kind of thing cute is definitely worth giving your attention to. 

“So how was your day?” Rachel asks, and it’s just getting dark, and it’s like, that perfect time in New York City where the sun is going down and bouncing off glass buildings, and you need a jacket but it’s not exactly cold. 

“Good.” Santana shrugs. “Kind of sucky to start.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rachel say sincerely, like there’s anything she could have done about it. “What happened?”

“Um.” Santana wipes the corner of her mouth with her napkin and tries to think of how to not give out confidential information, but not seem like she’s holding back, either. “There’s this kid.”

Rachel smiles a little bit and sets her hand on Santana’s arm, just below her elbow. “You can’t talk about it, can you?” 

Seriously? It’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. “No, not really.”

 

“Well,” Rachel says, smiling and then pushing her hair off her face, “if you ever can talk about it, or want to, I’m here.” Santana glances over at Rachel as they walk. She doesn’t know why it’s just dawning on her now that Rachel actually _listens_ , but she likes it. “We can get gelato from that place you were telling me about.”

Santana wants to kiss her, but she ends up just nodding and saying, “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great,” instead. 

… … ...

She spends the next three days trying to get a hold of Finn and so when her desk phone rings around 1:30, just as she’s finishing up a review of this ridiculously dry record of employment for a wrongful dismissal case, it takes her a second to process when she hears, “Uh, hi. It’s Finn. Finn Hudson.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then figures she should try to dig the case file out from the mess on her desk, and says, “Right. Thanks for getting back to me.” 

Which is weird, because she had to work so hard to even find him, and he absolutely has no idea what this is about. And actually, for the first time, she thinks about how weird and potentially scary it might be to get a random phone call from some lawyer in New York City. 

“Sorry it took me a while. There was a big storm in Kentucky and I had to go pick up some pups.”

Yeah, when she found out he runs a rescue home for abused and mistreated dogs, she was a little shocked because he’s supposed to be this actually terrible dude who just up and left Quinn with this cute kid. This may be her first case involving a child, but she’s not dumb and she knows how these things usually go.

“No problem,” she says, because shit, how could she be upset about that? Having never revealed to a 27-year-old puppy saviour that he has a child he never knew existed, Santana decides to just go for it. “I’m calling to be in touch regarding the paternity of a seven-year-old boy. The mother has made the following requests: pending confirmation of paternity, you’re tested to see if you’re a potential donor match, and you relinquish your parental rights.”

There’s a pause long enough that Santana wonders if he’s passed out or something. 

“What?” 

She isn’t sure what’s confusing about what she just said. “Um.”

“What’s his name?”

Santana furrows her brow and closes the file on her desk. “I can’t give you that information.”

“You can tell me I have a kid, but you can’t tell me his name?” he asks, and yeah, she can hear that he’s getting a bit angry. Which sort of makes sense, but she’s not really here for, either. It’s clear Quinn doesn’t want him involved, and she’s going to respect her client’s wishes. “Wait. He’s seven, so I was 20. Which means...But I only slept with two people and...It’s Quinn.”

Well, she didn’t need to hear his entire fucking dating history, but she figures she can cut him some slack on account of the shock he must be in. And the puppies she can hear barking in the background. 

“Mr. Hudson…”

“It’s Finn.”

“All my client is asking you to do at this point is have the tests and send the results to me. She’s willing to cover the costs, so you can send the bill to my office.”

“I don’t need her to pay the - what’s wrong with him?”

Santana sort of hates that she actually feels bad for this guy. She doesn’t know the whole story, but he actually doesn’t seem like a deadbeat. He’s just a guy who was never told he was going to be a father. 

“Why don’t you give me a call back when you’ve had the tests done and we’ll go from there?” He doesn’t say anything and Santana opens the file again, looks at the photo of the little boy and wonders if he looks like Finn. “Mr. Hudson?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Okay. We’ll be in touch.”

She hangs up the phone and lets out a breath. This doesn’t feel like a win. 

… … …

Santana’s cooking pasta and trying not to get visibly annoyed every time the water bubbles up too close to the rim of the pot and threatens to spill over. Because Rachel’s here, looking gorgeous and sipping white wine, leaning her hip next to the counter and asking literally every four minutes if there’s anything she can do to help. Santana says she’s got it, but Rachel starts setting the table anyway. Santana looks over her shoulder to see Rachel carefully placing silverware next to their plates, and she realizes she has this weird urge just to _talk_ to Rachel. Yeah, she’s a good listener, but Santana’s dated those before and still felt like she didn’t want to share. With Rachel, it feels like a conversation rather than an information gathering session.

“So, at work, there’s this guy who doesn’t suck.” 

Rachel looks over at her, almost surprised. Okay, Santana can admit that she doesn’t usually initiate conversations about work, but she’s been thinking about Finn Hudson since she talked to him. 

“Well, that’s refreshing,” Rachel sort of laughs.

“Seriously,” Santana says. “I just mean, this messed up thing happened that he didn’t have much control over, and it sucks. He’s just this guy who’s stuck in this crappy situation.”

“You probably see that all the time,” Rachel says sympathetically. 

Santana thinks about that for a second, because what ever made her think Finn Hudson was the only nice guy in a bad situation? And Rachel’s just accidentally reminded her what she signed up for. 

“No, this is my first time,” she answers honestly. “But I should probably get used to it.”

“I don’t think you should have to get used to bad things happening to good people.”

“I’m a lawyer,” she says, and Rachel smiles a bit and says, “I suppose that’s what you signed up for.”

“Pretty much.” She turns to stir the sauce and then back to Rachel again. “He rescues _puppies_.”

“Well,” Rachel starts, then shrugs her shoulders in this exaggerated way Santana thinks is so goofy it’s cute, “think of all the people who are allergic to dogs. I mean, is he doing _them_ any favours? I don’t think so.”

Santana starts laughing and she’s not so annoyed when the water boils over the side of the pot.

… … …

She tries really very hard not to check her work email outside of her regular office hours, but she’s out with work people so she figures that counts, right? They’re celebrating Mike’s last day (well, she’s not celebrating that so much as she’s congratulating him on his new job or whatever) and she’s trying to look busy so Andy doesn’t come over here and talk to her. His breath is horrendous and all he ever wants to talk about is his wife, which is ironic considering he can’t ever seem to keep his eyes off Santana’s chest. 

She’s got an email from Finn, saying he’s got the results. He’s the dad. He’s a match. And he’s coming to New York. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, and she didn’t realize Mike was right behind her until he asks what’s wrong. “The guy from that case,” she tells him. And yes, she’s talked to him about it since that first day. A week ago when Finn emailed her saying he was going to get the test done, she shouted down the hall and had a little moment when she realized how much she was going to miss being able to do that. “He says he’s coming to New York.”

Mike groans and shakes his head. “That’s not gonna go well.”

“It’s not gonna happen,” she tells him like it’s just that obvious. “I’m going to call him and tell him not to come.”

Mike pats her on the back a little harder than he has to, and taps his beer against hers, says, “Good luck with that,” and saunters off.

She’s outside, and it’s not like this sidewalk in New York is much quieter than the inside of the bar, but she feels like it’s somehow a better place to make this call.

“Mr. Hudson,” she says after he’s answered, “I got your email. I think you should hold off on coming to New York.”

“You called me a week ago and told me I have a kid who’s sick. There’s no way I’m not coming.”

She thinks _he’s not your kid_ , but there’s no way she’s going to say that. “What are you hoping to accomplish?”

“He’s my son,” he tells her, a little louder than he has to. “I have to…”

“Have to do what? You don’t know him.” He lets out a frustrated breath, but she doesn’t feel like stopping until he really understands what a monumentally terrible idea this is. “Quinn has made it crystal clear - more than once - that she doesn’t want you in his life. And if you think you can come here and change her mind, you’re wrong.”

“I don’t think she gets to decide that.”

“She absolutely does.”

“But I’m his dad!” he shouts.

She doesn’t even hesitate before she asks, “What’s his favourite colour?” There’s silence on the line and Santana thinks she’s getting through to him. “What’s your plan? You live in Ohio. He’s a sick kid and all his care is based here. All a court is going to see is that Quinn has cared for him well for the last seven years, and all you did was sleep with her and not look back.”

“But she didn’t tell me.”

“Do you think that’s how her lawyer will present it?”

“You’re her lawyer,” he says. 

“And?” she asks, and her brow goes up even though he obviously can’t see. He just doesn’t get it. “Finn, there’s no way you get what you want out of this.”

She doesn’t even think he knows what he wants at this point. 

“What do I do?” he asks, sounding every bit as hopeless as she’s sure he feels. 

Santana takes a deep breath. She actually feels bad for the guy. “You’ve already done it.”

… … …

She calls Quinn Fabray the next day to update her on what’s happening with Finn’s results, and to deliver the news that he’s agreed to give up his rights.

“Thank you,” Quinn says, sounding incredibly relieved and maybe a little exhausted. 

“Of course,” Santana replies, and then before she can stop herself, “I think you made a mistake.”

Quinn’s quiet for a moment. “That’s none of your business.”

“I realize that. I just thought you might want to know.”

… … …

She’s lying in bed with Rachel, feeling Rachel’s thumb move back and forth over her shoulder. It’s cold, but Rachel likes the windows open, so they’re under the duvet. It’s late, but Santana isn’t tired and Rachel likes to talk in the dark, so that’s a thing they do pretty regularly. Santana’s starting to love that, too. 

“So he just gave up?” Rachel asks, and Santana sort of loves the surprise in her voice. 

“Yeah.” 

“And that’s what you told him to do?” That’s a little harder for Santana to hear, but she knows that the answer is still yes. So she shrugs her shoulder and nods her head. “I’m sure that was really hard for you to do. But if it’s what she wanted…”

“I told her she was making the wrong choice, which I probably shouldn’t have.” 

Rachel laughs a little and kisses Santana quickly. “You know, you never mentioned the boy’s name,” she says casually, like it’s just dawning on her. 

Santana tips her head up so she can see Rachel’s face. “Chris. His name’s Christopher.”


End file.
